Falsely Accused Page 3

  I could be violated and murdered down here, and no one would ever know, she thought on a shudder, wondering why she didn’t collapse in fear. I’m past caring, only she wasn’t, not really. I want to live, I must, and poor Libby I’ve probably only made things worse for her. She could die and I wouldn’t know.

  Cages, about six in all, were set in the deepest, blackest corner, and the guard shoved her into the last one. At least she could look through the bars she thought for a moment, before hearing the awful grating of a wall coming down. She was absolutely entombed, except for a few inches of space at the top.

  She wanted to scream, but terror rendered her mute. The small flicker of light trailed off in the distance, leaving her alone in total darkness.

  Solitary confinement. Would they feed her? Stale bread and water most probably. She sat on the slimy floor, wrapped her arms around herself and rocked backwards and forwards. A person could go mad down here, but she wouldn’t if she kept her mind occupied. She was so deep in the bowels of the ship the waves crashed noisily against the sides. If the ship leaked, water would pour in and she would drown, even if the leak didn’t send them to the bottom of the ocean.

  She started singing all the songs she could remember, except for hymns there weren’t very many. How different things had been when their mother Georgina lived. She protected them from Silas’ savagery and meanness. Used an allowance from her family to buy them the extra things their own father begrudged them.

  Finally, when she could stand Silas’ ill treatment no longer, she took her daughters and fled back to her parents. They had been too small to really understand the ramifications of such a drastic move.

  After their pretty mother died, Silas remarried, and their grandparents had to relinquish the two of them to their father. He hated both his daughters, but singled Fiona out for extra punishment because she looked exactly like their mother. It was the only explanation Maryanne could come up with as to why he raped Fiona and not her.

  Those long summer days spent on the rugged Cornish coast in her grandparents’ house, were the happiest of her whole life.

  She suddenly thought of their neighbor Lord Ashton and his rakish son Timothy. How many young maids had he impregnated and callously dismissed, once their condition became obvious? No sympathy or help did they receive from the church or anyone else, so most of them degenerated into poverty, ending their days in the workhouse or in forced prostitution.

  This colony of Australia might not be so bad after all. By the time they arrived, more than one year of her sentence would be served and six years would not take too long to pass. Would she see Jake again? Hopefully they would be sent to the same place.

  Time went by, how long she had absolutely no idea. Sheer exhaustion finally allowed her to sleep, even though it was in fitful broken spells, and peppered with nightmares. She lay on bare planks with no blankets or bedding whatsoever. Even the foulest creature on earth didn’t deserve this kind of heinous treatment.

  “Maryanne.” She dreamt someone called out her name. “Maryanne,” it came again, louder, more insistent. It sounded muffled, but definitely a man’s voice. Someone had come to let her out.

  As she struggled into a kneeling position she banged her head on the roof of the cage. “Yes,” she answered in a scratchy, faint voice.

  “Quickly, crawl up to the door.”

  She edged forward a couple of feet. “Are you going to let me out?”

  “Only wish I could, my pretty.”

  “Jake?” Tears welled in her eyes when she realized who it was. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to visit you, of course.”

  “I don’t think I can bear this horrible place much longer.”

  “Yes, you can. If you want to badly enough, you can endure anything. Here, reach up to the opening, I’ve got some ships biscuits and a little wine.”

  “How did you get them?”

  “I bartered; quickly, I’ve only got a few minutes. They’ll flog me if I’m caught down here.

  She stretched out her hand. Warm, callused fingers brushed hers.

  “Libby got the wine; the biscuits are a gift from me. Wait, don’t have it now, keep it for later.”

  “They’ve only given me some stale awful bread and water. I’ve lost track of time.”

  “You’ve been down here three days. The surgeon might be able to get you out soon. Libby’s working on him.”

  “She got sick, so I...”

  “Libby told me what you did. After twenty-four hours she recovered, so you sacrificed yourself for nothing, I’m afraid.”

  “I thought she might die, the others, too. I’ve never seen anything so awful.”

  “Several did die, so the women have been allowed up on deck. I must leave you now, my lovely girl.”

  “Why did you risk helping me?”

  “Because destiny caused our paths to cross.”

  He departed as silently as he had appeared, and she would have thought it all a dream, except for the biscuits in one hand and the drinking vessel in the other.

  Disregarding Jake’s instructions, she gulped a mouthful of wine, and it scalded her throat all the way down, leaving her gasping for breath. She decided to mix it with her ration of brackish water.

  She had been down here for three days according to Jake. She had lost track of time because night and day merged into one. What had he said? Destiny. His feelings for her must be strong if he was prepared to take such a terrible risk. She hugged this thought to herself. It would comfort her in the long, lonely hours ahead.

  What a handsome man, strong too, but ruthless. She shivered in the blackness. It would not do to cross Jake Smith.

  Was that his real name she suddenly wondered? It sounded common, yet he had an educated voice and carried himself with princely arrogance. An aura of mystery surrounded him. She sensed it from the first moment they met. Even though they barely spoke, his powerful presence ensnared her. Jake Smith was not any ordinary man.

  She watched Libby staring at him on several occasions, and wondered why it hurt so badly when he returned the bold gaze with slightly narrowed, speculative eyes. Did he want to bed Libby? An experienced woman like her could surely pleasure him. It was shocking to think this way, but what would it be like to feel his hands caressing her bare flesh. Heat seared her loins, then she suddenly pictured Silas on top of Fiona, and ice shivered along her veins.

  Never, no man would ever defile her body. She’d rather die than be forced to endure that, only Jake wouldn’t need to use force on any woman, they would come to him willingly.

  “I won’t.” The words echoed hollowly in the darkness.

  A few hours later, it could have been a day she didn’t know for sure, but a fat guard some of the women called Pig Bolton came to let her out. As she stumbled up on deck, the light almost blinded her.

  “Get a move on.” Pig hit her so forcibly in the back she fell on to her hands and knees. “Get up.” His kick sent her sprawling on the deck.

  “Enough. Explain your actions immediately,” the irate male voice sounded vaguely familiar.

  Maryanne raised her head and found the young fair officer Libby had told her to smile at, standing only a foot or two away.

  “I’ve been down in the dark so long, I couldn’t see at first, Sir.” Because he appeared so immaculate, she felt even more filthy and degraded.

  “Yes, I can imagine.” He almost offered his hand to help her up, and she didn’t blame him for suddenly drawing back. Who would want to touch anyone in such a wretched condition?

  She straightened up, pushing the tangled blonde strands away from her face. “I feel dreadful, and I must look even worse.”

  He gave a shy, girlish smile. “Well, you are rather, er, grubby, could I have your name?”

  “Maryanne Watson.”

  “Oh yes, the parson’s daughter. You.” He swung around to Pig. “See to it Miss Watson has facilities to wash in, then she’s to report to my cabin.” Crimson
flags on his smooth cheeks made him look even more feminine.

  “Yes, Sir,” Pig answered sullenly. “Won’t learn much in his bed,” he sneered as the officer marched off. “Now I could teach you a thing or two.”

  She turned her head away so he would not read the revulsion in her face.

  ***

  How humiliating having to strip off and wash under the watchful eye of one of the specially appointed matrons. Maryanne hated the way several other women leered at her nakedness. One old hag made a grab for her breast and she cringed away. Neither Libby nor Bridget was anywhere to be seen, so she felt alone and vulnerable. What if they wanted to…. How often had she heard the nocturnal fornication in the cells at Newgate? She shivered with dread.

  Although the water felt cold and the soap rough and coarse, she scrubbed her skin vigorously, trying to wash away the accumulated filth.

  “Where are the rest of the women?” she finally ventured to ask, when curiosity got the better of her.

  The matron, a granite faced woman, narrowed her eyes until they turned into slits. “Being bedded by the officers or soldiers.”

  “Oh.” Maryanne’s heart sank to her boots. Selection of sleeping companions had obviously begun.

  She slipped into a clean but faded gown, and the coarse material scratched her skin. At the top of the stairway Pig waited for her.

  “Sailor boy here will take you to McIntyre’s cabin.” He jerked his thumb in the youth’s direction before stomping off.

  “What’s your name?” Maryanne asked as they proceeded along the deck.

  “Ben, Miss.”

  “Is this your first trip to sea?”

  “Second,” he said with a grin.

  “Oh, you’ve been out to the colonies before?”

  “No, France.”

  Several male convicts scrubbed the decks, while others folded up sails. “If they behave,” Ben gestured to the men, “they get paid for doing jobs up here.”

  “What do they get?”

  “An extra ration of rum.”

  She glanced around. Suddenly, inexplicably her eyes swiveled upward. High up in the rigging, she spotted Jake straddling a beam, his long legs dangling carelessly in the air. If something broke he would plummet down on to the deck and be killed. She wanted to scream at him to be careful, beseech him not to take unnecessary risks, but merely waved her hand in greeting.

  “Hurry up, Miss, I don’t want to miss me tea.”

  Lieutenant McIntyre’s mahogany lined cabin was small, but after what she had been living in lately, it seemed palatial. Her frightened eyes went to a neatly made up bunk, and she started trembling.

  “Nervous are you?” Ben gave a knowing wink.

  Anything is better than the squalor below decks. You wouldn’t survive such filth for very long, she told herself. What if he wanted to.... No, she mustn’t think like that. Libby said he only liked boys. Oh God, please let it be true.

  After Ben left, she tried to compose herself, but it proved hard not knowing what might happen. Gold backed brushes laid out neatly on the dresser, confirmed her initial thought that the Lieutenant was wealthy. There were several books on botany. With trembling hands she picked one up and nervously flipped through the pages. Could he be a botanist?

  One book in particular displayed brightly painted butterflies and strange, exotic birds. After reading only a few lines she realized they were native to the colony of Australia. Her heart lifted, no place that nurtured such exquisite creatures could be totally bad.

  “Well, Miss Watson, er, Maryanne.”

  She jumped up guiltily, causing the open book to clatter to the floor.

  “You like reading?” He came to stand in front of her.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He dragged trembling fingers through his hair. “You’re welcome to borrow them. I studied botany for a while.” His hand came out to cup her chin. How white and feminine she thought, forcing herself not to flinch away.

  “I like your cabin, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s all right.” He flung himself down on the bunk. “I hate this life, but my father thought it would make a man out of me. Just because he and the captain served in the navy together I’m stuck here until I make a decent marriage.” His lips drooped petulantly.

  “Can’t you decide which is worse,” she teased, feeling suddenly cheerful. “Matrimony or naval life.”

  “Both are frightful.”

  She laughed. He sounded like a sulky schoolboy.

  “Are you really a parson’s daughter?” He lounged on the bunk while she sat in the only chair.

  “Yes.”

  “I heard you tried to murder your mother.”

  “Stepmother. She attacked me and I defended myself.”

  “Can you make a decent pot of tea?”

  “Well, yes, if…”

  “There’s tea in the brown chest, sugar, too.” He tossed her a key. “You can get boiling water from the galley anytime.”

  “Would you like me to make some now, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes. I usually eat my meals with the other officers, but I’ll make arrangements for you to get something in the galley.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes, cook is, well.” He gave a knowing smirk. “I can easily handle him.”

  She knelt down in front of the chest to unlock it and gasped in surprise. Inside were packets of flour, tea and sugar, bottles of brandy and various other foodstuffs.

  “In case rations get short, I don’t intend to starve. There’s enough here for you, too. Discretion, Maryanne, always be discreet and we shall get along splendidly.”

  “I won’t say a word, you can depend on it.”

  “The galley is on this deck, down near the front.”

  He didn’t even speak like a sailor, she thought, taking the heavily carved silver pot he handed her.

  “Make enough for three.”

  She raised quizzical eyebrows.

  “Ben, er, runs errands for me.”

  She clamped down on a sudden sick feeling of revulsion. Surely he wouldn’t; the boy couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen years old.

  The large galley appeared to be separated into two sections. A couple of clean men prepared food at a well-scrubbed table down the far end for officers, while a dirty individual stirred some greasy concoction at another stove. Convict food no doubt.

  A rat scurried across an overhead beam and she shuddered. Horrible creature. It stopped to peer down at the stove with its beady eyes. Suddenly it toppled off its perch and with a squeal and a flurry of legs, dropped into the pot. Bile rose up in her throat. She desperately fought to control her heaving stomach, because the man left it there and continued stirring the gruel.

  No matter what happens to me in McIntyre’s cabin, I’ll put up with it she decided fiercely. To even contemplate going back down below and eating such vile swill made her retch.

  The cook, a mountain of a man with clean-shaven cheeks and shiny bald head, waddled up to her. “Ah, Lt. McIntyre wants his tea?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He snapped his fingers at one of the clean underlings, who took the pot from her trembling hands and filled it with boiling water.

  “Here’s some fresh made currant cake.”

  Maryanne’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as the cook sliced several generous pieces from a still warm cake.

  “Got a sweet tooth has our lieutenant.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Off you go, girl. Tell him the merchandise he got me proved to be most satisfactory.” He gave a rumble of laughter as Maryanne scuttled off.

  Back in the cabin Ben sat on the bunk.

  She greeted the boy with a faltering smile, when she caught the look on Geoffrey McIntyre’s face. He lowered his head, but not quickly enough to hide the sheer animal hunger lusting in his eyes. God, she didn’t want to think about what they might have been doing.

  “Your tea,” she croaked, almost dropping th
e pot as she put it on the dresser. “C…C…Cake, cook sent it along,” she babbled, “said to tell you the merchandise proved most satisfactory.”

  Geoffrey smirked and gave Ben a conspiratorial wink.

  She set out the porcelain cups on a fold down table and poured the tea. After the initial feeling of revulsion passed, she ate the cake with enjoyment.

  “Mm, haven’t tasted anything like this for a long time,” she told Ben.

  “Until Lt Geoffrey came along I never ate cake.” He gobbled down his second piece, gazing so adoringly at the lieutenant, Maryanne knew her first instincts had been correct.

  You want to survive, don’t you? she scolded herself fiercely. You’re prepared to do anything, so why condemn this boy for doing the same thing. Only it wasn’t the same. A man and a woman yes, but two males. She couldn’t even bear to think about the word describing such vile acts. She lowered her head, endeavoring to hide the way she felt, but was not quick enough to disguise the revulsion in her eyes.

  “Discretion, Maryanne.” Although a smile tugged at his lips, Geoffrey almost hissed the words out.

  ***

  Later on in the day she met up with Libby who worked in the hospital. “Thanks for what you tried to do for me, Maryanne.”

  “I owed you.”

  “Were you surprised when Jake visited?”

  “Yes, he shouldn’t have taken such a risk. What if he’d been caught?”

  “Jake is one man who can take care of himself. Help me straighten this bedding. There’s a reasonably decent nightshirt here, you have it.”

  “Oh?”

  “You won’t be able to wear your dress in the lieutenant’s bed. The surgeon, dear man, has put me in charge of the linen.” Libby tossed her head.

  “I’m frightened about tonight. What if McIntyre wants to…”

  “Let him do whatever he wants, it’s better than going back down below. There’s fever raging amongst the men. James said it won’t take long to reach the women either.”

  “Who?”

  “The surgeon. Says he hasn’t got enough of the proper medicine to treat it.”

  “What about Jake?”

  “He’s working up on deck. Besides he’s as strong as an ox, knows how to look after himself. Studied medicine for a while.”